I love story. I love the places it can take you to. I love the people you meet in it. Story is a passage way into my imagination. A well written story invades my mind and my imagination comes to the rescue. It makes sense of the parts that my mind doesn't recognize. My imagination constructs wild animals that I've never seen the likes of. It collects the descriptors of a place written about and builds it; either city or small house. I love story.
As I flip through the pages of a book, my imagination either thrills at the entries or sighs and says "I've seen this before." The last book I read made my imagination thrill. There were people "graced" with special abilities, powerful women who charged themselves with fighting for the weaker of their sex, and a romance that wove throughout. This story I couldn't put down. I rushed through it; from front to back. My imagination screaming with delight.
As I drew to the end of this story I felt as if I was about to loose something. Like the last day of a vacation, I couldn't really enjoy the last pages of this book, because I knew it was about to end. Reluctantly I finished. I then searched the few empty pages at the back of the book. I read the front and back flyleaf. I closed the book and turned it over and over in my hands (maybe hoping that a certain amount of turns would open a secret door back into the story I'd just left). I found no hidden messages or doorways, only the tease of a prequel to be written at an unknown time in the future.
This is somewhat ritual whenever I read a great book. I search for the hidden track, desperately looking in the folds of a page or at the bottom of a flyleaf. One or two books have satisfied me in providing a hidden something and thus encouraged this obsessive behavior (Fablehaven and Artemis Fowl). If you recognize those titles, you now know something about me. I read Young Adult Fiction. A genre whose audience is often looking for the prize at the bottom of the box.
11.26.2008
11.23.2008
11.09.2008
Some People Wander
On my first day of kindergarten I wore my hair neatly in braid. It was a long blond braid that cascaded down my back and ended shortly past my bottom. I had on my first day of school outfit, a new backpack, and a look of utter bewilderment. I held my Mom's hand tightly as the yellow school bus slowed to a stop in front of us. I turned and in an act of desperation wrapped my arms around my Mom and began sobbing. My Mom acted with grace in a moment that was potentially embracing for us both. She managed to coax me onto the bus and talk a 5th grader into taking care of me until I found my class.
It is almost scary how little I've changed since then. I have moved from home, traveled, and tried many new things but never without the last act of desperately clinging to what I know. I like to be comfortable. I like having things around me that make me feel safe. I like having people around me that make me feel safe. In the same breath, I recognize the tremendous amount of growth available to me when I move beyond the comfortable and the safe to seek the new and the challenging.
I bring this up because my husband and friends have started discussing the possibility of moving to New Orleans. The need there is still great. With 40% of the homes abandoned or destroyed the neighborhoods look less than inviting. My husband, Dave, looks at this as an opportunity to build community in the places that have been abandoned. He and our friend Kate see it as an opportunity to live out the faith we profess. I see it as another opportunity to find something to cling to and sob.
It's a conflicting feeling, much like the one I had while waiting for the bus over 23 years ago. I am scared. I like my home, my job, and my current community. I'm not looking for adventure, I am not a thrill seeker. But, there is a part of me who wants to go and see. I want to try this out, because there is a potential that this could be good. I mean kindergarten turned out alright. My teacher did yell at me for not knowing how to tie my shoes, but learning how to read was pretty cool.
It is almost scary how little I've changed since then. I have moved from home, traveled, and tried many new things but never without the last act of desperately clinging to what I know. I like to be comfortable. I like having things around me that make me feel safe. I like having people around me that make me feel safe. In the same breath, I recognize the tremendous amount of growth available to me when I move beyond the comfortable and the safe to seek the new and the challenging.
I bring this up because my husband and friends have started discussing the possibility of moving to New Orleans. The need there is still great. With 40% of the homes abandoned or destroyed the neighborhoods look less than inviting. My husband, Dave, looks at this as an opportunity to build community in the places that have been abandoned. He and our friend Kate see it as an opportunity to live out the faith we profess. I see it as another opportunity to find something to cling to and sob.
It's a conflicting feeling, much like the one I had while waiting for the bus over 23 years ago. I am scared. I like my home, my job, and my current community. I'm not looking for adventure, I am not a thrill seeker. But, there is a part of me who wants to go and see. I want to try this out, because there is a potential that this could be good. I mean kindergarten turned out alright. My teacher did yell at me for not knowing how to tie my shoes, but learning how to read was pretty cool.
11.08.2008
Beautiful Quote
"There is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost." -Martha Graham
11.06.2008
Lone Black Bird
A saw a lone black bird flying through the drizzly Northwest sky. An infinate blanket of grey clouds hung behind him. He seemed to be heading for something that was more important to him than his personal comfort. For a few seconds he appeared to be alone. Then, slowly the rest of his flock came into view.
While he was alone I imagined that his life was like the weather; dreary, sad, and hard. As his flock came into view, my perspective changed. He was now the leader. He flew out ahead of his group to charge the weather and be the first to confront any dangers. While I watched, part of me wished I was the bird.
While he was alone I imagined that his life was like the weather; dreary, sad, and hard. As his flock came into view, my perspective changed. He was now the leader. He flew out ahead of his group to charge the weather and be the first to confront any dangers. While I watched, part of me wished I was the bird.
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